After years of nomadic temporary employment, advanced degrees, and chocolate ice cream, a rugger with a love of knitting and a cyclist with no domestic skills signed a Ketubah and bought a house in Pittsburgh.

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Today was Fight Gone Bad at CrossFit for the WOD. I have managed to finagle my training sessions so that I conveniently miss Fight Gone Bad ever since the first time I did it in June. I must say I'm glad I finally went back for more. Despite having a baby inside, I still lifted more weight than when I first began CrossFit and got a way better score. Last time: 215. This time: 247.

I remember when I began CrossFit I couldn't even shoulder press the 30# bar, had to use little dumbells. Now it feels like torture to only use that bar, when I know I can do so much more. I of course am aware that I am scaling down the weights to protect the tiny baby growing inside me, just waiting to out-thrust me and beat me in deadlifts, but that doesn't make it easier to lift what my rugby-brain tells me are whimpy weights while the rest of the athletes to "real work." Each day I add to my mental list of the things I'll do in August (climb a rope to the top, deadlift my body weight, shoulder press 100#...) and these thoughts get me through the light lifts.

I'm pretty proud of the progress I've made in 6 months. It's pretty wild that my pregnant body is stronger than my flubbery pre-CrossFit self. I love the added motivation my pregnancy gives me to stay fit, like I know that each healthy heart beat helps deliver more oxygenated blood to my womb and sets a precedent for my wee one to lead an active life. Maybe I'll be like Carla Overbeck and have a baby so addicted to working out, I'll have to bring him or her to the gym for naptimes, where the sounds and rhythms of the workouts lull the baby to sleep instead of a singing glow worm.

I'm currently experiencing the euphoria I only get when I've improved myself, met and surpassed a challenge. I hope the baby is enjoying this rush along with me. Today, the Fight went well.

Monday, December 29, 2008

I hated Benjamin Button. Hated it. And Corey did, too. We feel ok about this even though everyone else we know loved it. But we do feel a little judgey, like we might need to get new friends and family members who also hated the movie.

I thought the idea for the story was a really unique one and that it was pretty well executed. A man aging in reverse. It was really neat to me. And there were some really interesting complications, like wanting playmates or the strange relationship Benjamin develops with his own deadbeat father and being unable to have age-appropriate friends until he was in his 20s, that made the story really well rounded. However, none of these positives were stronger than the major negative plot point: Benjamin Button abandons his baby to go gallivanting in India.

To me, this is a selfish and unforgivable action. Babies need parents. They just do. The other people who watched the movie with us think he was being all noble in freeing up his lady-friend to go marry someone else while she was still young and hot. That's bullshit, too. Daisy didn't seem to really love that dude. She needed Benjamin. He had at least 20 years in him that he could parent his child and be a partner to his Daisy. By the time Caroline was 20, Daisy wouldn't have "needed" to go off and find another man to be Caroline's father. Plus, Daisy ended up diapering her lover in the end anyway so his big old "sacrifice" didn't really get him very far.

I don't know if Corey and I felt so strongly about this move because we have a baby coming or because it really is such an awful thing, but the idea that Benjamin's leaving was noble makes our blood boil. We think he's a deadbeat dad, even if he did leave them millions of dollars on the bureau.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

I haven't really had trouble with overactive bladder thus far in my pregnancy. I've been drinking my midwife-recommended 80 oz of water each day to even out with my activity level, but I've been peeing what I consider to be a normal amount. Until today.

I went into New York City with my mother-in-law and Corey's cousins. We stopped first at a fantastically wonderful chocolate shop for hot cocoa. And I saw they had a bathroom. I used it twice during our half hour visit. Then we met the owner and learned all about how she silk screens her designs using cocoa butter and go to talking and soon enough I had to go again! But we were already on the move.

I tried to breathe deeply and pray for McDonalds, then sneaked into Giggle as a diversion. I thought I could look at frog shoes and hippo onesies and not concentrate on my exploding bladder. And then a door opened, right by the bath toy scoopers, and a golden light as if from heaven shone down upon a toilet! Right there in a cute little Manhattan boutique. It occurred to me that stores catering to babies and moms must ALL have bathrooms. I think that might have been the best pee of my life. You know how when you have to go super bad, like so bad you think you'll burst, and then you finally pee and it feels so wonderful? That was this pee in this baby store. It made me want to buy something. I think when the baby comes along I actually will buy many of the things in there in gratitude.

Finally, we made our way to the Pearl River Market and tried to ogle the three floors of cheap, Asian-themed stuff. I was halfway through the aisles of chopsticks when I had to pee. Again. Now, I never imagined there would be a restroom on the premisis. This was, after all, a super crowded store packed with cheap, cheap, cheap goods. But Ellen asked a little man carving narcissus bulbs and they indeed had a bathroom! For a store with a slight film of crud, the bathroom was actually quite excellent. There were even three stalls in there, so many people could pee at once. Best bathroom of the day for me.

We ended the evening at a restaurant, where I only had to use the bathroom once. I would say that my bladder is slowing down and returning to normal again, but as I type this I feel the urge to empty it again. Luckily I am not crammed into the sidewalks of Canal Street and the bathroom is just a few steps away. This is only going to get more pathetic as the months go on.

Monday, December 22, 2008

We had our ultrasound today! It was such a relief for me to see our tiny baby alive and well and hiccupping all over the place. I had myself convinced last week that I had somehow killed the baby. This is mostly because of babycenter.com, where all the mothers have some sort of catastrophe and don't like me because I spoke negatively about Suzie from Survivor.

(I should know better than to lurk around a place that disapproves of people speaking their minds about television characters)

Anyway, as soon as the technician put the wand to my belly, we could see a fully formed human lurking inside there. With ears. And little arms that he or she waved around like mad. I never felt anything so powerful in my life as I did looking at that screen. There's a person. Inside me. For real. This is really happening.

Of course I knew all of this before, but looking at the baby move around really solidified everything. There's a baby in there, and I love that baby so much, so fiercely that I feel completely empowered.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Corey and I got Vonage shortly after we moved to Pittsburgh, predominantly because I was eating up our shared cell phone minutes doing phone interviews for articles. We initially just used a free Conair corded telephone that came with a hairdryer I found at Big Lots. Both the phone and hairdryer soon petered out.

In order to still have a phone in my office, we needed a quick solution (we never bothered to replace the hair dryer). I had been spending the weekend at my parents' house and just stole an old, old, old cordless phone. Like Zack Morris old. It worked in a pinch and was only supposed to tide us over til we remembered to go to Best Buy.

The phone was terrible. For starters, the 3 didn't work. Whenever I had to initiate a phone interview, I'd cringe and fear lateness if the number contained a 3. I'd grunt and press with all my might and eventually have to jab a knitting needle repeatedly into the key pad to make it dial. By 2008, four years into our temporary phone, the disfunction spread to the 6 and the 0 key. Also? The phone only held a charge for a few hours. Lucky for me, I'm terribly forgetful and consistently neglected to put it back on the charger.

I'll never forget the first time I spoke with the coach of the women's national rugby team (15s)--a hard interview to secure due to busy-ness and schedule complications on both sides--and I had to say, "Can I call you back from another phone in a second? This one's about to die..." (She also had some 3's in her number...)

The worst part about this ancient phone was the way its frequency interfered with the wireless internet. We were unable to be online and on the phone at the same time. This was a terribly misfortune for Corey in particular. I'd pick up the phone to call one of our moms and hear him grunting from the basement, his many hours of online South Park viewing interrupted.

Something had to give.

On Wednesday, Corey said something so wonderful I added another column to the reasons I married him. He looked at me, smiled, and said, "You know, I found 2 old Best Buy gift cards. We should used them to get a new phone."

It was like he was a prophet. Of course that was the solution! I stopped in and bought one en route to the eye doctor. Nothing could have been simpler. He hooked it up for me. The 3 works. And the 6. And! It has an advanced signal that doesn't interfere with our wi-fi. It's like I live in a real house with real technological features. I'm on the internet AND listening to voicemail right now. On my speaker phone. From the second headset that came with the phone, so we have one for upstairs and one for downstairs to eliminate the liklihood of my forgetting to charge it.

Now that we have a functional telephone, I can't believe we soldiered on so long with the piece of crap we were using. I wish I could express the magnitude of difference this one small change has made in my life in just a few days. It's like we knew the whole time how badly we needed to make a change, but just didn't have the impetus to do it. Something buzzed in Corey's bonnet this week to spur some change, and I feel stupendously grateful for that.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Yesterday, my stylist Jessica gave me this trendy, asymmetrical haircut (still a bit wet from the shower):Along the way, she told me how she was watching an infomercial the other day and remains convinced she needs the Toby steamer. She hates ironing desperately but has to do it every day. She thinks this Toby steamer would really change her life for the better.

I told her about my infomercial experience with the Cricut and we both agreed it would be life altering to create animal shapes out of, say, leather.

"Maybe you should ask Santa for the Toby," I told her, thinking she could just ask her husband and he'd feel super relieved to have an idea.

"Man!" she yelled. "Wouldn't it be great if Santa were real? Like for real you could just ask this man for presents and he'd get them for you if you were nice?"

I thought about this a lot since then. Santa. He seems a bit like a genie in a bottle, only with material possessions instead of more abstract wish-granting like riches or happiness or love.

If there were an honest-to-goodness present giving Santa, I think I would ask him not for a Cricut but for a new Mac. Perhaps one with a functional optical drive, but at least one that is shiny and environmentally friendly and better than the one JennyLui has.

Then, if I were still allowed to ask for more things, I'd ask for the expensive hair wax Jessica used on my coif so it wouldn't look like I just got out of the shower and shook my head and called that a hairstyle.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

A few months ago, PNC took away the option to not get a receipt. They just took it away. One day you could opt out and the next? If you used the ATM you had to get that little piece of paper. It drove me mad. It infuriated me. I saw them blowing around the ground surrounding the ATMs. I saw them billowing out of the trash cans, people's personal banking information taking to the breeze like so many feathers.

(Note: this made me more angry than wasters who get receipts only to look at them briefly, crumple them up, and throw them on the ground. Not sure why that is less annoying than having no choice...this is litter after all)

Anyway, two weeks ago when I went to the ATM, I got asked the magic question: Would you like a receipt with your transaction?

No! No I would most certainly not like you to chop down a tree for a weird, hard to read, temporal record of my transaction.

Thank you, PNC, for returning to the level of conservation you had before. I will not, however, feel at ease until I understand the two-month hiatus of non-wasting options. Why would you have done that to start with? I think you need to plant a bamboo field somewhere troical to offset your customers' receipt usage.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

I am torn about paper this year. On one hand, I have justified my lack of sending holiday cards with the environment. Why waste the paper and envelopes and fuel delivering the cards, I said. On this same hand, I've bought a few gifts that come with secret magical packaging that is very environmentally friendly and I for sure won't add additional trimmings to these gifts out of respect for the people who invented the packaging.

(I don't want to give details because the recipients read this blog...)

But then there's my other hand and my other pile of gifts. I want to just put a bow or a tag on them or use newspaper to wrap them, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I have my mom for a mom, after all. She has such ornate wrapping devices and accouterments. She has this machine to cut ribbon into a million tiny pieces of ribbon that curl like permed hair. She has a bag of bows and more cute tags than you could ever use. She doesn't just have one roll of wrapping paper somewhere in the house like we do. She has a collection. There's paper for all holidays and occasions. She'd never wrap someone's birthday gift in Santa paper. She's probably embarrassed that I put the paper Santa-side in and give people white-wrapped gifts at non-Christmas events.

Sometimes I feel like my genetics are stronger than my desire to not be wasteful. I went to the store and bought a roll of wrapping paper yesterday. I haven't opened it yet or gotten rid of the receipt, but I'm thinking I might cave and wrap my presents with this beautiful, blue shiny paper. Some of the presents...

Monday, December 15, 2008

We had houseguests this weekend who brought their delicious baby Sergio to play with us. Apart from a 6 hour timeout Corey took to ride bikes in the mud on Sunday, the two of us basically spent the whole weekend holding, smelling, feeding, and napping with Serge. It was wonderful.

Friday, December 12, 2008

So my students mostly use the new Word to write all their papers. I find this annoying only because I have a 2004 version of Office and must, thus, convert all the files using this easy but bothersome conversion program. It drives me nuts.

I asked my friend to loan me her CD of the 2008 Office for Mac and she graciously agreed. So I hauled into campus to run some errands and acquire it. Well she forgot it. No sweat. She would deliver it to my friend Sam, whose children I would be babysitting while he read aloud from his new and fabulous book.

She went to the reading, delivered the CD, and Sam put it in his pocket to take home. When he got home, the millions of children he produced starting running around and clapping and singing and jumping and we all jumped and ran and sang and clapped. And we all forgot about the CD. No sweat. He would just take it BACK to campus and put it in my mailbox, where I would acquire it on my next journey to do errands.

I went into campus today during a blizzard, made some copies, returned library books, and got the CD. I was cold, miserable, had parallel parked poorly, and got home ready to install some new software.

Then I remembered. I don't have a functional disk drive on my computer. The genius told me it was broken. So, after all that, here I sit with a new version of Word and no way to install it. Life laughs at me sometimes, just to see if I still think things are funny.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

I keep having the weirdest dreams! And since I can't seem to sleep beyond 5:45 anymore, I usually have lots of time before daylight to ponder their meaning.

Last night there were two odd ones. In the first, I was 15 minutes late for my ultrasound appointment and they wouldn't see me. Odder than the notion that I would be late for anything at all, let alone NOT ten minutes early, was the fact that as I was walking through Oakland (in the dream) for the appointment, I was drinking a beer! I hid the beer in the trash can in the lobby of the ultrasound place, which was in the back of a book store, then fought with the lady at reception about why I couldn't get my procedure. Open containers, tardiness--it's like the world was inside out and I became some sort of lax rule breaker.

Dream two had me back at church as an acolyte again. This one was just a sort of nostalgic dream that made me remember all the drama of acolyte culture. There you are, 13 years old, standing in front of the whole church with a fire stick. You are terrified, not of messing up and losing God's favor, but of clanking the brass lighter on the brass candlestick such that the hatted old biddies will complain about your lack of skills.

Each week in the basement, as we all donned our gowns and rope belts, our troop leader would report on who had been clanky the week before. I was determined to not be gossiped about. I didn't wear sandals like my sister or jeans like my cousins, so I was already safe in one regard. I wasn't about to lose everything and make a timid noise unto the Lord.

In the dream, everything happened in slow motion and I could actually feel the heat of the candles as I worked painfully slowly to light and extinguish each one in a heavenly, silent way. I was jolted awake from this dream by Corey's broken alarm clock, which flashed 2 am and beeped even though the real time was 5:45 and neither of us needed to be up for another hour or so.

Tonight, I'll probably dream of smashing the alarm clock over his head. Because that might have actually happened...

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Today is the "Day without a Gay" protest. The idea is to call in "gay" from work, and use your time instead to volunteer. The message is two-fold: there are dramatically more gay people than we think helping our world to function and these neighbors, during their protest, are moved to do good in the world rather than divisive, anger-driven legislating.

I am self employed and am unable to support this protest. (Though I am taking time to babysit for my friend Sam so his wife can hear him read from his newly released book!) (Also, I sort of question its eventual usefulness, but I digress)

My brother-in-law showed me a blog post today that fully exemplifies why I feel legislation denying civil rights is wrong. This man has humbled me. He makes me feel sad that Corey and I are automatically given rights and privileges my gay friends have to pay and work hard to obtain (if they can ever get them). It just feels wrong.

Monday, December 08, 2008

Behold this photo:Forgive its poor quality, having been taken with a camera phone and all. Gaze upon the wonder of that product. Dark Chocolate Dreams. That's right. I'll type it again. Dark Chocolate Dreams.

What you are looking at is a combination of dark chocolate and peanut butter. It's all stirred together for you already, all right there in the jar ready for you to scrape into your mouth in the middle of the grocery store. The jar is even plastic, so when you drop it because you've had an attack of joy, it won't break and you won't lose any of your Dark Chocolate Dreams.

I found out this product existed yesterday. I was buying peanut butter for Corey. He's a peanut butter snob, you see. Won't eat anything but the peanut butter from Peanut Butter & Co. Usually he'll only eat Crunch Time. And who could blame him? The only ingredients are peanuts and salt. It's pretty much the best thing compared to sticking peanuts and salt in your Cuisinart and making it yourself. But really, who has time? And there's always a line for the machine to do that at Whole Foods.

So there I was, crouched down in the hippie food section of Giant Eagle and reaching for his peanut butter, when I saw the Dreams. It was wedged in the back, sort of near the Bulgar wheat. Like some other woman had hidden it for later in an attempt to prevent me from buying the last jar. Screw you, lady. I got it. And I spread it on my muffin this morning. And then I ate some with my fingers on my way to putting it away in the pantry.

I see from this company's website that they sell many different heavenly products. I somehow doubt any can come close to the magical combination that is bitter dark chocolate plus smooth peanut butter. I use to think I needed Nutella to survive. In the summer, I go nuts for peanut butter, Nutella, and banana sandwiches.

Who needs hazelnut now, when I can have just pure dark chocolate with my peanut butter? I might eat the whole jar today. Corey might come home from work to find me in a food coma on the kitchen floor, resting my head on the plastic jar for a pillow and murmuring my thanks to the nut mavens and their ingenious invention.

Sunday, December 07, 2008

OMG I have a problem. I got home from the grocery store (an absolute zoo in the hours before the Steelers game) and settled into the couch with some Pirate Booty. My intention was to watch some downhill skiing, maybe even a made for TV movie on the Jesus channel. Something where a man considers an affair but then reconsiders, not because he loves his wife but because Jesus wouldn't approve of such behavior.

Anyway, I did not watch either of those things because I got sucked in by an informercial for Cricut Expressions. Here is a machine--the Bedazzler of card stock--that allows you to cut out any shape in the world on basically any surface. I must confess that I am a girl with poor cutting skills. I'm left handed, you see, and those rusty green scissors were never as sharp or accurate as the silver beauties my classmates got to use in school. My creations were always raggedy and pathetic compared to the Edward Scissorhands-worthy stylings of, say, Shelbie.

Imagine my daydreams upon gazing at the Cricut! Here was a woman with perfect, manicured nails telling me I could etch glass or make stencils or fabricate delicate, perfect greeting cards using adhesive dots and a machine that will cut complicated scrolls onto a Kleenex if I program it carefully. I sat in my living room agreeing with the ladies that my walls ARE bland and boring and that I certainly do need to cut produce out of fabric and decoupage it to my home. I also need to go on the deck and burn words in the wood, paint flowers on the pavement, and make a scrap book. Then? When the baby's born? I need to make a mobile with card stock spiders and start helping him or her get ready for science fair projects.

(Don't get me started on science fair projects. Mine always looked like a serial killer put them together with glue and human skin)

This product offered me a way into a world that is gentile and courteous and crafty. Who cares if I can knit? With Cricut I can cut out wooden eyeballs or plastic teeth and knit crocodile puppets! Better, right? I need Cricut, I think. If only to feel for one small moment that, should I ever again need a lesbian wedding card, I can make something beautiful and appropriate in the privacy of my living room.

Each week, I check various websites and books to read about what's going on inside my body, how big the baby is and what he or she has grown recently. This week, my baby is the size of a grape, has some teeth and a face, and his or her heart is divided into four chambers. Last week, the baby was the size of a kidney bean (or on some sites a raspberry). Before that a blueberry. Next up? Kumquat.

I believe they use fruit comparisons for several reasons. First to give moms and dads something readily identifiable. We have grapes in our fridge. We just have to open the door and look at one and know that's how big our offspring is right now.

But I think the second message is more of a subliminal reminder that moms need to eat lots of fruit. Because otherwise we won't poop for nine months.

I feel quite lucky to have had a nausea free experience so far. Apart from that one day where I exploded in the yard, I have felt awesome. Cranky, a little weepy sometimes, but generally awesome. Except I can't poop.

I force myself to eat prunes and apricots each morning, drink hot tea, only buy fibrous cereals and sprouted wheat bread. I put leafy greens in everything and work out regularly. That little grape has me backed up beyond belief. I learned that this is due to increased levels of progesterone in my body and not yet because the uterus is in the way of the exit (That happens when we're dealing with more of a peach sized baby).

Perhaps the only silver lining in this fruit bowl is that I am now without question the best gas passer in my household. Corey can't hold a candle to what I've got going on. If he did, he'd wind up blown out into the street with his beard gone missing.

Thursday, December 04, 2008

I just checked my Good Reads book list and I've read 22 books since May. At first I resisted joining Good Reads because it sounded annoying, but now I'm glad I did. That's a lot of books! I was so greatly anticipating the conclusion of graduate school because I wanted to read books again. I feel like for three years I didn't read anything. I mean I used to be a book a week girl. It looks like I'm getting right back near that pace, which is awesome.

Granted, some of the books were young adult literature and some (Harry Potter 7) I'd read before, but I was reading for pleasure! Sometimes fiction! It feels like I am slowly but surely creeping back toward my old self. I might even learn to relax soon. I'm getting closer to being used to eating dinner in an actual chair, not out of the microwave standing by the photocopier in 517...

I am mid-way through two more books and want to push myself to read a third before New Year's so I can say I hit 25 books in the last 7 months of the year. I think that's a good goal. I suppose if you count the substantial portions of What to Expect While You're Expecting, I will have ingested 26 books! I'm just so expanded, horizon-wise.

I am having a bit book anxiety right now. I am hosting a book club meeting on Tuesday to talk about Waiter Rant, which I loved. I just found out my friend hated it. Super hated it. I am scared that everyone else hated it and they will all resent me for picking such a book. And then they'll all judge me based on my book taste! And then I won't be able to be friends with them anymore because they'll wonder how they could like me if I loved a book they hated so thoroughly. How does this happen? My heart rate is going up. It feels better to share.

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

I just checked the website and I'll be doing freaking Fran tonight at Crossfit. For those unfamiliar with Fran, here is a video that should explain my feelings of apprehension:

Now, I assure you I will take longer than 2:48 to complete this workout. That woman is a beastly, amazing superhero. I will also not be doing 85# for my thrusters and, most likely, I'll have to do jumping pullups. Basically, I will cower in the shadow of her wonderousness. I'll update later with my time and weight. If I live...

**Update: I did Fran in 5:15 using 40# weight for the thrusters...which isn't too terrible considering I was wrong about the prescribed weight for women. 65#. Not too far off...next time I know I can crack 5 minutes.

Something happens to me in the wintertime and I retreat back to my youth. I re-read all the books I used to pore over when I was actually young and then watch the films made from those books. Probably the first set of movies to not disappointment me is the current Narnia endeavor. How great are those movies so far?

Last night I watched Caspian. The little dude from The Station Agent plays Trumpkin (or D.L.F. for those in the know) and, again due to pregnancy-induced hormone swings, I sat on my couch transfixed and weeping as he fought his way through the Telmarines. Every part of that movie is exactly as I imagined it in my head as a wee girl. Then, when I went back and read the book (it's only like 100 pages and doesn't take more than an hour or so) I was just so happy with how closely the director stuck to the plot.

Except for one small thing: they sold out Susan. It's bad enough C.S. Lewis kicks Susan out of Narnia for liking pantyhose and lipstick. This film director gets her kicked out for falling in love with Caspian. Where does that come from? In the book, nobody has time for budding romance. They're all busy fighting off catapults and evil Spanish-sounding men. Even in the movie, Susan is out on the battlefield slinging arrows in exactly the right spot to pierce a warrior's armor. Why do they have to incorporate a love story? I disapprove. Didn't Lewis create enough action and drama and excitement without having makeout scene?

Some day I'm going to write a fairytale in which the heroine is concerned only with saving the world. If people fall in love with her, she will be oblivious because she'll be so driven and satisfied with her righteous endeavors she won't have time. Like Alice Paul. Maybe I should just watch Iron Jawed Angels all the time and stop viewing other movies...

Let's just hope that the Voyage of the Dawn Treader doesn't have Lucy falling in love with Eustice, because that would be truly disappointing. Does anyone else predict Eustice and Jill will end up with a love scene when they get to The Silver Chair?

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

We don't have real phone service. We have an internet line we established initially for my business use so I wouldn't rack up huge phone bills doing telephone interviews. It comes in handy when I have to call people in Europe. Or even just during the day time. But the line is through the internet and, thus, we aren't listed in the phone book or really on Verizon's radar.

Yet we get phone books! I feel like twice a year we get a phone book. I don't want this paper waster. What on earth do I need with a phone book? You might think I would need it to look up a telephone number provided the power/internet was out. Should this occur, I would have no phone, either! Or, I would just text the establishment name to GOOGL and my favorite website (love you, Google!) would text me back the address and phone number. For free.

Each time a phone book gets delivered, I leave it on my porch for a week in hopes that the delivery person will come back and collect it. Take it back again. Then Corey tells me I'm a useless dreamer and I take it to Construction Junction with the other recycling.

Not anymore, though. I just learned of a new and fantastic website: Yellow Pages Goes Green. I went there and learned some facts and clicked to opt out of phone book delivery. I will let you know in a few months whether this endeavor was successful. I sure hope so! What a great Christmas present to myself. No more phone books clogging up the porch...

Monday, December 01, 2008

I am the match secretary for the Angels, which means I am working diligently to create our schedule for this spring. During one of my bouts of pregnancy-induced insomnia, I decided I wanted there to be a map showing the women's rugby teams so I could judge how far away they all were. But there isn't really such a map. So I fiddled around in google maps and made one! Behold:

Now please know it's just a rough draft, but how cool is that? I can click on the pins and see how far away the teams are and get driving directions. Or I can color code based on D1, D2, College, etc. I think those are my future plans for the map. I can also add notes to keep track of who owes whom an away game/home game for future reference, keep track of scores.